


Twister

by theyseemerollins



Series: Storm Chasers [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: But a very good one, Dean is a Good Friend, Dean is a drunk friend, Fluff, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 16:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyseemerollins/pseuds/theyseemerollins
Summary: Another night, another storm, and yet still no one else is home.  What good is this so-called Shield anyway?  It'll be okay though, because Dean comes home in a whirlwind of drunkedness, French Fries, and archaic board games.





	Twister

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of what is now a series. This is your healthy dose of what I believe to be comedic gold. You all can be the judges, but I think I'm hilarious.

You almost made it. Almost made it through the night without waking up to the wind. 

But, no. At 3 a.m. the tell-tale crackle of the siding jolted you out of your deep sleep, and a crack of thunder had you wondering if you had temporarily gone deaf overnight.

Despite your pounding heart, all you could manage in your semi delirium was a groan of dismay. You burrowed into your blankets, begging the powers that be to let you fall back asleep, cursing them when the wind shattered your attempts to do so. You tossed the sheets away and groaned again. For extra measure, you cursed that it was _your_ bed you had woken up in.

Seth wasn't home. Had he been, you'd have already either A. Been in his bed to begin with, or B. had skittered down the hall and dove in next to him.

You thought about doing it now, but decided it wasn't really worth it. You had done the laundry earlier that day, so the sheets wouldn't even smell like him to comfort you. Sometimes you really hated his job.

Then you started feeling more angry than scared. These dudes were never home when you needed them. When you just want to lie on the couch and languish in your menstrual fueled laziness and rage, ice cream in hand? Giant, loud jerks everywhere. When you're trying ro read or study quietly? Nerf gun wars erupt around you and you're forced to take up arms or be pelted with darts. When you had your girlfriends over for a very embarrassing party your bestie insisted on so she could sell her sex toys? _Grand Central Station starring The Shield_. 

When you're under the pillows you hoard in the basement for just such apocalyptic storms? Fucking _nobody_. 

_Who are they friggen shielding anyway?_ You think in disgust.

You'd spoiled yourself, finding comfort in Seth. Being able to snuggle up with him--among other things--whenever a storm came along had become the norm, and you were always grateful. You often found yourself able to sleep through or otherwise ignore storms if he was next to you. Not to mention your relationship with him had blossomed into something wonderful.

But he was out of state on the road, as was Roman. Your phone showed no new texts since you had fallen asleep, and you didn't want to bother either of them if they had managed to catch sleep of their own--something rare for them in travel.

So you stared at your ceiling and listened to the chaos outside.

Miraculously, you found yourseld falling back alseep after a few minutes. The rhythmic downpour relaxed you just enough that the occasional gust escaped your notice. That coupled with some particularly distracting thoughts about Seth nigh on guaranteed what could only be a saucy dream filled slumber....

"HEY TOOTZ!"

The chaos had come inside.

You sat bolt upright. "Deeeaaannn."

The drunken bastard.

You hadn't forgotten him. It was impossible to forget Dean Ambrose existed on Earth let alone in the same house. He was a force of nature that could reckon with the elements, if you were any judge.

What you had forgotten was that he'd gone out for drinks with some pals, since he had time off while making his movie.

"TOOTZ? TOOTZ! HEY TOOTZIE POP, WHERE YOU AT?"

You sighed as you listened to him barging around the hallway. He had gone to Seth's room first. You fought the stupid grin that was forming on your face at that and just hoped the idiot had taken a cab home.

You waited a few more seconds before getting up. Dean's stomping around was becoming more vigorous. The man was a tank. Never a stumbling drunk, Dean became more _pronounced_ with the more alcohol he consumed. If you hadn't already noticed the ragged scrapper before he got a few shots in, you'd notice him soon after. Everything about the man just got louder. 

Including his yelling, you realized as he bellowed for you once more.

When you yanked your door open, he was standing right outside it, illumined in all the lights he had of course turned on upon arriving home.

"WHAT?" You screamed back at him.

"GOD DAMN, woman...no need to yell, I have a splitting headache."

You nearly laughed. Crossing your arms, you looked at him skeptically.

Dean peered at you, eyes narrowing as he seemingly searched your face.

"God damn," he said after a while, and you blinked in confusion at his tone. "You have a serious Rollins bitch face going on right now."

You reached out and smacked his arm. "Shut up, jerk."

"Nah, I'm serious. You guys spend too much time together." 

You just shook your head, grinning. "What did you want, Dean?"

Dean seemed lost in his own world at this point. He was looking up and down the hall like he didn't want anyone to hear the confidential message he was about to impart. Slowly he turned back and leaned toward you.

"D'ya want any fries?"

" _What?_

"Fries! Ya know, those crunch potato sticks of heaven? The only sure thing in this cold, sad life?"

You slapped a hand to your face as he started hopping up and down. "It's 3:30 in the morning," you reminded him.

Dean stopped hopping and shrugged. "No time like the present for French Fries, darlin'."

"But I was asleep."

"Shit...were you? Shit, I'm sorry, tootzie pop. I figured you'd be up 'cause of the storm."

You felt your insides get all warm and gooey like they did every time the boys remembered your weakness. They did take good care of you at your lowest, so it made being mad at them unsustainable.

"Well...I was awake. But I was sort of falling back asleep..."

"Dirty thoughts in lieu of dirty deeds, huh?" Dean winked obscenely at you, and then chuckled at his own joke.

You felt your face redden. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was enjoying a nice, wholesome dream about....stuff."

Dean snorted. "Babe, ain't nothing wholesome about _your_ dreams." He turned away from you and started off for the stairs. As he walked, he glanced back at you and smirked. "Thin walls."

You watched the top of his head disappear as he galloped down the steps, gaping in horrified embarrassment. Once he hit the wood floor he yelled, "I'm making fries!" And you heard his steps grow fainter as he approached the kitchen. 

You stood in the hall for a while, frozen in the wake of Dean's announcement. Never had you felt so embarrassed. His room was next to yours, but you hoped to God he had just been bluffing. There's no way you made any sort of sound while your dreamed. And even if you did, he wouldn't be able to hear it...the man slept like a tranqulized elephant. 

But then you're remembering comments here and there, where one of the guys would mention hearing you groaning over the weather or just talking on your phone.

So, theoretcially, it was within the realm of possibility that Dean might hear...things. You're dreams weren't exactly PG. Especially since you'd been with Seth...

Thunder shook the house and you leapt out of your hellish reverie. You decided you did need those fries.

"Howdy," Dean beamed at you when you shuffled into the kitchen. You gave a small wave and climbed up on a barstool. You'd brought your pillow and phone.

"We only have sweet potato fries because Ro is a godammned _heathen_ ," Dean told you while the oven was heating up. "But we'll make do."

You giggled in spite of yourself. "No tots?" You asked as though you'd heard blasphemy.

Dean was wide eyed and indignant. "RIGHT? Like who does the fucking decision making around here?" The oven beeped and he all but threw the pan of sweet potato fries into the it. 

You stared at each other for a beat before simultaneously saying, "Roman."

Laughing hysterically, you wiped your eyes. You loved these moments. The ones you got all to yourself. The ones where you just got to be yourself, or any facet of yourself with one of your boys. Hanging out all together had it's perks, but sometimes you were selfish and didn't want to share with anyone.

"Thanks for making the fries, Dean."

Dean's eyes softened and he smiled at you. "No thing, tootz."

Wind hit the bay windows and you jumped, squeezing your pillow to your chest. You pressed closer to the bar in front of you, and Dean reached out and ruffled your hair. "It's okay, babe. I'll kick Zeus's ass for you."

"You're still drunk."

"As fuck," Dean agreed cheerfully.

You sat in companionable silence while waiting for the fries to be done. The room was starting to smell good, and your stomach growled. Dean tossed some pot holders onto the bar between the two of you, and when the fries came out, he placed the whole pan on top.

"You don't want ketchup, do you?" He asked.

"Not for sweet potato fries," you said with a sneer in your voice.

"Shh," Dean hissed loudly. "They'll hear you."

You cracked up again, lone fry in hand, and your face pointed to the ceiling. The thunder quickly sobered you, though.

"What is it about storms?" Dean asked suddenly.

You shrugged. "It's just the wind. I actually love a good, clean thunderstorm. The louder the thunder, the better. But as soon as it goes super dark and ugly, and the wind comes in..."

You shuddered.

"Why? You ever been in a twister?"

You shook your head violently. "Never. But the movie scarred me for life. I can't stand the sound of windchimes or even look at silos indifferently."

"That's some fucked up shit," Dean replied while chewing on a fry.

"Agreed."

"You know what we should do?" Dean said, smacking the bar with his palm. "We should play Twister."

"Dean, I'm not watching that movie. Even with you."

Dean waved his hand. "No, not the movie. The game. With the spinner and psychedelic circles and shit."

"Oh! Why?"

"Because I'm bored and wired. And I think it'll take your mind off the storm and Seth not being here with you."

You smiled at him. "I mean, I'm up for it. But how will we spin?"

"It's the twenty first century, darling. There's an app for that."

How Dean "Fuck technology" Ambrose knew there was a spinner app for Twister was beyond you. But you checked, and he was right, so that's how you ended up playing Twister to ignore the potential for a real one.

Dean was shockingly good at it. That pissed you off. You were hoping him being drunk would make him a little wobbly, but the man was a friggen cat. You were struggling with the most simple of contortions and here he was in jeans and a tank top twisting circles around you.

"Why are you so good at this?" You groaned as you stretched your hand over him to claim a green circle.

"Feline grace, baby," he boasted. You snorted and waited for the phone to call out the next move. 

" _Left foot blue_.

Dean's foot moved fluidly, before you could even remember which foot was your left. When you did, you calculated the best way to go about transferring it.

You smiled slyly when you figured it. "Giddyup," you said as you threw your leg over his waist.

"Well, damn, girl. You should have worn your cowgirl hat."

You stared down at him, the competition making your blood boil. You were gonna win so help you god...

_Right foot yellow_

"Shit," you muttered.

"I win," Dean smirked. His leg shifted, and he effectively bucked you off of him. When you fell, you let out a shriek of fury and pushed him over."

"Dude, Twister is my jam!"

You looked over at the source of the new voice.

"SETH!" Leaping up, you threw yourself into his arms. "I didn't know you were coming home!"

"I figured I'd surprise you. Ro will be here later, too," he grinned as he hugged you tightly. "Storm trouble?"

"Yeah, but Dean helped," you smiled happily at Dean, who was folding up the game mat.

He returned your smile. "Of course," he said. "Didn't want you scared all by yourself."

You snuggled against Seth, your body reminding you how sleepy you were. It was almost 5 a.m. Seth watched you stifle a yawn.

"Bedtime, I think." He scooped you up and headed for the stairs. "Your room or mine?"

Before you could say anything, Dean said loudly, "THIN WALLS."

"SHUT _UP_ ," you yelled in dismay. An obnoxious laugh followed you up the stairs. 

"Definitely yours," you groaned into Seth's shoulder.


End file.
